


Could Have Been Real

by Starsofgallifrey



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Job, Gay Sex, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Regret, Rough Se, Smut, dom Ed, ed x oswald, hallucination oswald, haunting images, nygmobblepotweek, slight dub con, sub os
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starsofgallifrey/pseuds/Starsofgallifrey
Summary: The hallucination of former Mayor Cobblepot will disappear from Ed's life for good, but after he does one more arduous and intimate task for Edward.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy NygmobblepotWeek!!! Day 4: Sexy

He shouldn’t have pulled the trigger.

 

Edward knew that much at least. Whether it was because he regretted his actions, or because he needed Oswald, was beside him. He only understood that he shouldn’t have done it, and yet here he was. Convincing himself until the end of time that Oswald needed to pay for his actions; he had to die. The whole situation was difficult to process, even for someone with the brilliant mind and stature of Edward Nygma. The Riddler.

 

“If I needed to die, why do you think of me all the time?” Oswald asked, in a heavy sneer. "It's literally by the hour now." He was back, his short legs dangling from the desk. Ed swerved in his chair so he didn’t have to look at him, but now Oswald was leaning against the window, a smile spread across his face.

 

This was a daily occurrence now. The hallucination would pop up every so often to make rude or snide comments towards him, taunting him until Ed gave into feeling worthless. Some days the impostor would pretend he was the real Oswald, just to get on Ed’s nerves. He was starting to reach the end of his line with how much _fake_ Oswald he could handle.

 

“Why don’t you just _go away_?” Ed grumbled to himself, getting up and strolling to the center of the living room. He stared into the fireplace, watching the flames lap frantically at the oxygen around it. Oswald wouldn't leave. Not until any ounce of guilt was drained from him and he knew that wasn't going to be eradicated from his body anytime soon. Ed could feel arms ghosting around his chest, locking him in place. He shut his eyes, sending any suggestive thoughts into a mental dumpster. It wasn’t real, _Oswald_ wasn’t real, and yet it truly felt like Ed was immobile, like he couldn’t _move_. Ed finally shuddered, his breaths now coming in short as the arms had begun to constrict around him. "Please don't."

 

The feeling of the arms embracing him, vanished. "Just tell me why you won't leave," Ed repeats and thinks, _tell me what I can do to rid myself of this mental torture._  

 

“You know why,” Oswald circled him, his hands behind his back, his legs walking smoothly. It was uncanny to see him not limping around at such a pace. But then again, this wasn’t Oswald, this was some figment of his own mind. Edward thought that perhaps it was just people he killed, when he saw hallucinations. Names like Dougherty and Mr. Leonard came to mind, and he was reminded yet again these visages had only ever been himself, Kristen, and now…Oswald.

 

This Oswald had darker eye shadow and liner, and his hair was gelled up to an extent Ed had never seen. He wore a dark purple pinstriped suit, reminding Edward of the color in which his late partner had been partial too.

 

“Thinking of me as a _partner_ again?” Oswald asked softly. The tone of his voice changing made him want to lash out and strangle the spirit. Ed hated when he used such an _innocent_ voice. It took a moment for him to relay Oswald's words. Ed thought about the accusation. He had hadn’t used the word ‘partner’ had he? He was his _business_ partner, nothing more. Oswald hadn’t earned the privilege of having any sort of relationship between them considered.

 

“Didn’t I though?”

 

“Didn’t you _what_?” Ed snapped.

 

Oswald smirks, and takes a step forward. Ed’s stomach churns, surprisingly not in disgust. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the feeling. “Earn the privilege,” the ex-mayor states simply.  Oswald's face closes into a harsh grimace, eyes bulging as he suddenly cries out, “DOES THIS MEAN I PASSED?!” Ed reels back from his horrendous and ear-shattering screams.

 

“D-don’t,” Ed whispers, hands twitching at his sides. “I despise it when you impersonate him.” The impostor rolls his eyes, and continues on the previous subject, ignores Ed’s plight.

  
"Because you like him?"

 

"I didn't say that." 

 

Oswald remained silent, a knowing smirk playing on his beautifully structured features. He casually begins to roll up his sleeves, folding them tastefully underneath the overlying layer. Edward tenses as he takes one step forward.

 

“I passed your test, your _game_ ,” Oswald steps forward again, slowly closing the empty space between them. Edward’s heart rate was increasing. He needed to start convincing himself, reminding himself, that this was a ghost. No, a _hallucination_. 

 

“You aren’t real,” Ed interrupts, backing up into his desk with a loud crash, until Oswald’s ghostly hands are planted firmly around him on either side, body pressed flush against his. Ed knew he could run; knew he could escape. He wasn’t physically being held down by anything, yet he felt trapped by Oswald’s spectral presence.

 

“Am I real now?” Oswald breathes against his skin. _God why was his breath so hot?_ It misted over his skin in waves, as the apparition’s lips ghosted down his quivering throat. “Can’t you feel this?” he adds, finally pressing his lips in a kiss to Ed’s collarbone. The night he has spent thinking about this... It sent a shiver down his spine. He found himself wondering if _his_ Oswald had been so warm. He would never have the chance to find out.

 

“ _Don’t you want me?”_

 

Ed stood in shock, hands shaking as he attempted to hold himself up by the sturdy desk behind him. The old would creaked with pressure. “I-I _don’t_ want you…” he sounds unsure.

 

Oswald unclips Ed’s suit jacket with fervor, so it hangs loose, and starts to carefully unbutton his shirt, pulling at his green tie with his teeth. Ed was starting to feel used, and what scared him the most is that he was starting not to care. “Prove it,” the hallucination growls around the tie. "Prove you don't want this." Once halfway down, he rips his shirt open completely disregarding the rest of the buttons. They clatter to the floor.

 

Ed’s eyes widen as he feels a searing hot tongue on his chest. Oswald’s hands had moved to his hips, one hand fondling him through his pants, attempting to wring out cries from the man above him. Ed closed his eyes and willed himself to be anywhere else, thinking perhaps the ghost would be gone once he opened them. His last attempt at ridding himself of his current fate. Of course he knew Oswald would stay. As long as he desired him, Oswald would stay.

 

And he desired him to _ungodly_ extents.

 

"I can't prove it."  

 

Edward’s hands flew to Oswald’s hair sporadically, ripping at the soft strands, as he started mumbling a mantra behind hooded lids. “Touch me, touch me, please,” he groaned when Oswald took a nipple in between his teeth and tugged harshly. “Again,” and Oswald complied. His bite felt sharp and _right_. He shook in this man’s grasp, submitting himself to the pleasurable feelings.

 

Who gave a shit if it wasn’t real? It’s what he had always wanted, and it was happening in _explicit_ detail. Ed didn’t care if this made him look insane; he would enjoy it.

 

He heard two thumps as Oswald fell to his knees on the floor. Before Ed could think or even say something in response, Oswald had him unbuckled and unzipped, swallowing him half down. 

 

Ed threw his head back, a moan ripped from the back of his throat. “O-oh dear,” he says in a staggering breath.  So many nights he had denied imagining this. This wasn’t even real; this just happened to be a much more vivid dream than his last few fantasies. Edward had hastily gone from ‘ _pretend he isn’t here_ ’ to ‘ _pretend Oswald is alive and this is his tight mouth around your cock_ ’ in a heartbeat.

 

He threw his hands to his pitch black hair, pulling and tugging as he pleased. It’s not like he could hurt him anyway. Not worried about repercussions, he thrusts forward entirely until he can feel the head of his cock hit the back of Oswald’s throat. He thrusts more, harder and faster, until Oswald moans around him, sending vibrations of ecstasy throughout his whole body.

 

“You’re too good at this,” Ed says breathlessly. Oswald bobs one more time in acknowledgement. Ed scratches at the nape of the Penguin’s neck as he comes up off of him, scraping his tongue on the underside of his shaft.

 

“Maybe you’re just imagining that I’m this good. Maybe the real thing wouldn’t have been as great,” he pauses a moment and then adds with a sly grin, “maybe he would have been better.”

 

This punches another whole of guilt into Edward, which he attempts to ignore in this moment, as per usual.

 

Oswald stands and pushes Ed back onto the desk so he’s sitting up, legs dangling off the side. He removes his pants in a flash, throwing them to the couch, and mounts the taller man.

 

Ed took in a sharp breath as Oswald, without hesitation, lowers himself onto Ed, his tight ring pulsating around his needy cock. “Who needs lube when you’re a ghost?” he chides. Ed would almost laugh if it wasn’t for firm walls constricting his strained member, forcing only low groans from him.

 

He attempted to form words as Oswald started to move swiftly. Ed’s eyes fluttered back into his skull as the apparition began to roll his ghostly hips back and forth.

 

“Then why should it matter if I killed you, if being together with you dead is better than what we could have had?” Ed manages to ask between pants, gripping tightly to the soft skin of Oswald’s hips until his knuckles were white.

 

The hallucination snorts, bouncing up once, and sinking back down on the moaning man he’s riding. “Because, _Eddie_. I’m not the real thing. I’ll never be the real thing.” Ed tried to block out the words and focus on the sensations in his groin, but the man in his lap leans in close so he’s whispering straight in his ear. “This is all in your head. I’ll disappear soon, and then you’ll be left with nothing. Nothing but a memory of what could have been.”

 

Ed choked back a sob as he registered the words. He thrusts up into Oswald mindlessly, sliding in and out with ease, feeling striking pleasure with each hard thrust.

 

 _Distraction_ ; he needed a distraction from the intrusive ideas Oswald was spouting. He flipped the apparition over onto his back, knocking items off the cluttered desk in the process, and changes his angle, suddenly and to his delight, feeling himself slam into his partner’s prostate. The hallucination doesn’t make any noise, keeps a silent smirk on his face the entire time. It peeved him, but having him, _having_ Oswald how he wanted was what he had dreamed, right? He was tighter than Ed had imagined anyone ever could be. Oswald’s walls surrounding him were making him feel lightheaded, and blistering heat started pool in his stomach.

 

The words spoken by this spirit earlier were returning to him. Would he disappear after this like he said he would? Would he come back the next day like he always did? Sex with his hallucination was a first; he was unsure what the aftermath would be. More...unwanted thoughts started sprouting in his mind. 

 

_If he hadn’t killed Oswald, he could have had the real thing. Over time they could’ve fixed things; Oswald had begged him for a second chance multiple times, and he hadn’t given it to him. Edward had spent days upon days believing the reason Oswald killed Isabella was entirely selfish. And while it was painfully selfish, the love Oswald felt for Ed and Ed alone had festered into something real. He didn’t believe him, how could he? Not until Oswald laid down his life for him, and even then, he didn’t have enough time to process what it meant to have someone be in love with you. Truly, in love._

 

 _This_ is what they could have had; Edward thinks this as he slows his pace just slightly, and gently rocks back and forth into the demonic apparition. And instead of a lifeless, taunting spirit, he could have had the _real_ Oswald moaning and gasping under him. Soft and sweet, just like he remembered. The cute curve of his ears, and the way he looked so desirable in the few hours before they both departed for sleep. Ed gritted his teeth to hold back a contrite growl, trying to rid himself of the cumbersome memories. He needed to focus on the present.

 

His eyes were now closed, forehead pressed firmly to the man he was fucking into his desk. “Oswald,” he groaned, knowing he was coming close. He wanted to kiss him, wanted his lips on his when he came undone, but before he could act on his thoughts, he felt damp, icy, hands gripping tight at his lapels, water seeping through into his shirt and chest.

 

Edward pulled back instinctively to see Oswald’s pupil-less eyes, a glossed over pastel green, and water dripping from every crevice, pouring from his mouth like thinned out saliva. Seaweed smelling of salt and death hung from his shoulders, and Ed felt legs heavy with seawater and weeds wrap around his waist, trapping them in their stance.

 

He lifted up his hand that had been gripping the side of his stomach and felt his breath caught in his throat seeing the dark colored blood coating his fingers. The ghost surges up, catching him off guard. Wrinkled lips tasting of blood and the sea presses to his own violently. The odorous taste is enough to put a man in shock. He closes his eyes again as a tongue feeling and flavored like seaweed protrudes into his mouth.

 

His thrusts faltered, but he had been on the brink the whole time. Screaming back another sob, his eyes are shut tight, yet can still see the watery visage of the man he possibly once loved staring back at him. Cold, dead eyes. Clammy hips roll against his own and he forces bile back down into his throat as he comes hard inside of the hellish demon his brain had conjured up to haunt him. The feeling of damp walls pulsating and tightening around his cock starts to fade as he unconsciously rides out the waves of his orgasm.

 

* * *

 

 

He is laying across the desk alone, hand moving gently around his cock as he comes off the high of sex. The rug underneath the desk was now a mess, and rather than the satisfactory feeling of waking up from a dream, this was a hallucination that had merely ended. It had all felt real, too real. It _was_ real for him, but no one else. His sweat covered forehead was pressed into the oak wood of the desk, and he brings himself up to stand on shaky legs, but can’t balance.

 

He grips the ends of the desk for purchase, and feels tears begin to form in his eyes. He had never felt so hollow, broken, _wrong_. “This isn’t better,” his voice cracks in a whisper. “This isn’t better.”

 

Tears streamed down his cheeks. Edward fucked up big time. He wanted Oswald back, if only so he could beg forgiveness. As much as he desired him in his arms, he would let Oswald hate him forever if he could just say sorry.

 

A cool, calming, feeling of realization washed over him. He had resources. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He had _resources_. Edward found himself standing on two feet again, pulling up his pants around his hips in a haste.

 

He would fix this. He would fix _him_.


End file.
